The Winter Witch of the West
by BEASBeth
Summary: Are people born Wicked? Or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them? This is the long, very detailed story of Elsaba Porth. This is a 'Cornucopia crossover'- there's Wicked (parts from the musical and book will be used), Frozen, Rise of the Guardians, Tangled, and How to Train Your Dragon elements and characters in this. It starts out slow, but please, be patient! Reviews love!
1. Prologue

**This idea came to me because I've been on Jelsa and Wicked streaks lately. I've also seen a lot of 'Frozen Wicked' stuff on Pinterest, which really got my attention, but the real basis of this fic came when I asked myself 'If Elsa was Elphaba, and Anna was Nessa, who would be Galinda?' and the rest of the story and the characters fell into place.**

**This is my first FanFic so be gentle!**

**A list of the things I do not own:**

**Oz, Ozians, Elphaba, Galinda/Glinda, Nessarose, Fiyero, Boq, Madame Morrible, Dr. Dillamond, The Wizard, Melena, Frex, Munchkinland, Quadling Country, Winkie/ Vinkus Country, Kiamo Ko, Gilikin Country, the Tin Woodsman, The Scarecrow, The Cowardly Lion, Dorothy Gale, Toto, Uncle Henry, Auntie Em, the silver/ ruby slippers, Idina Menzel's voice, Any and all lines and song lyrics from the musical Wicked, Elsa, Anna, Rapunzel, Jack Frost (I wish), Rise of the Guardians, Frozen, Tangled, The Wizard of Oz (though I *do* have a copy), Kristof, Sven, Olaf, Arendelle (though I wish I did; they must have fantastic chocolate judging by the way the girls love it so much), the Southern Isles, Hans, the Duke of Westlton, Weasel town, magical powers of any kind, chocolate (oh wait, I do own this…excuse me…), Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless (I wish…but alas, it ain't so), How to Train Your Dragon, How to Train Your Dragon 2, How to Train Your Dragon 3 (technically speaking it doesn't exist yet, but while I'm stating stuff that's not mine), Kansas, Stormfly, and Gothel. Also, any 'Galindafied' words that are NOT in the original script ARE mine!**

**If I've forgotten anything, please let me know in the comments!**

**Enjoy!**

**~Beth**

Prologue: Good news

There was a great celebration that day. People hugged, people cried great sobs of happifulness as they rejoycified and festivated. Everyone and their neighbor danced in the streets, singing and playing.

Tables (or any flat surface available) were heaped with large roastisseries, bread-cakes, cake-breads, sweetbreads, sourbreads, saltybreads, and salt-free breads. Fresh fruits from Munchkinland were laid out, steaming plates of Wonder, Hope, and Excitement hot from the ovens of the finest bakeries of the Emerald City were delivered everywhere. There were great pots of Munchkin stew, Quadling stew, spicy Gilikinese stew, Vinkan broth, Emerald soup, carrot soup, swooping soup, hacking soup, and Animal soup (which was, surprisingly, not made with Animals, but by them). People gorged on Munchkincake, upside-down cake, right-side-up cake, this-side-up cake, sideways cake, oblong cake, and hanging cake, as well as sweetmeats, sweet vegetables, sweeter fruits, sweets, swelling pops, gogo sticks, sticks and bricks of chocolate, lollipops (but you had to buy a permit from the guild to do so), and (ironically) flavored ice. All these delicacies and more made the dessert tables groan in blissful agonization as each new dish was added. And absolutely nothing was green.

And that's just the food.

There were squalls of Quadlings and clusters of Munchkinfolk children playing 'Good Witch, Bad Witch,' and 'Catch the Green Girl.' Others reenacted the melting with buckets of what water they could get their tiny hands on (river water, stream water, well-water, etc.) and black blankets.

The adults flocked to the bars and eateries to raise a glass high in The Girl's name, and quickly became quite tipsified and gave in to inebriation, much to the embarrassmortifization of many of their spouses. But no one minded the chaos and confusifying atmosphere- today their greatest, wickedest enemy was gone, and every man, woman, child, Animal, animal, tik-tok person, stuffed person, china person, etc. was glad.

Save one.

**Do you like it so far? Is it promising? Do you think I should continue? Let me know what you think in the comments!**


	2. Chapter 1

Now, I know I said that I didn't want to continue until someone said they would like me to continue, but it's been a week, and I'm antsy to upload a new chapter (plus the prologue I gave you guys is pretty vague), sooo…yeah. I am hereby thwarting my previous decree.

**Again, a list of the things I do not own:**

**Oz, Ozians, Elphaba, Galinda/Glinda, Nessarose, Fiyero, Boq, Madame Morrible, Dr. Dillamond, The Wizard, Melena, Frex, Munchkinland, Quadling Country, Winkie/ Vinkus Country, Kiamo Ko, Gilikin Country, the Tin Woodsman, The Scarecrow, The Cowardly Lion, Dorothy Gale, Toto, Uncle Henry, Auntie Em, the silver/ ruby slippers, Idina Menzel's voice, Any and all lines and song lyrics from the musical Wicked, Elsa, Anna, Rapunzel, Jack Frost (I wish), Rise of the Guardians, Frozen, Tangled, The Wizard of Oz (the actual story and copyrights), Kristof, Sven, Olaf, the Kingdom of Arendelle, the Southern Isles, Hans, the Duke of Westlton, Weasel town, magical powers of any kind, chocolate (the rights to it anyway), Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless (I wish…but alas, it ain't so), How to Train Your Dragon, How to Train Your Dragon 2 (but I wish I did—then I could know what bloody happens without waiting for June to come along!), Kansas, Stormfly, and Gothel. Also, any 'Galindafied' words that are NOT in the original script are mine!**

**If I've forgotten anything, please let me know in the comments!**

**Seriously, please leave a comment once you've finished this chapter- it's the only way I'll know if anyone is reading this!**

Chapter 1: Her

Punzel the Pure (of Heart) saw all of this, unseen from her bubble, and mourned the loss of her dear friend. Sometimes she liked to wonder what life would have been like if the circumstances had been different, if she had acted differently, if they had been born in a different time or place. Would the outcome gave been different as well? Or was there such a thing as fate or destiny controlling and mapping out our futures, penciling in what will or won't be, and writing the story before it plays out? She may never know; people in general may never know. What she did know was no matter the situation or the time or the place, the Powers That Be had no right to create one with her friend's unfortunate death in the timeline. No right at all. Naturally, she knew that her friend would have had to die sometime in her life, as all things do, but just where was it written that it had to be so brutal and blood-thirsty? Couldn't her friend have died of old-age? Or at least have died as a beloved heroine, a wise leader, a benevolent guide?

One of Punzel's puzzlings that she liked to dwell on was the scenario where the people of Oz knew the real, correctifyied story of her best friend. She winced. It would have made no good; She had made her swear never to clear Her name in order to protect Punzel. It would have been one or the other, and She had chosen Punzel to be the survivor. Oh, but how Punzel wished that she had cleared her friend's name in time; yes, the people of Oz would have pursued and hated them both, but at least she could take comfort in her friend's safety and continued existence.

She closed her eyes for a moment, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. Traveling to the World of What-Might-Have-Been did more harm than good, and there was no point in wishing, especially if it caused this much pain every time. She had heard others who grieved for a lost one say that the hurt eventually faded with time, like a scar over an old wound. But she hadn't even had enough time to let the shock roll over her and numb her to the core before she was sent into battle, let alone enough time to heal properly. She found it best not to think about what-might-have-been, or what-could or other such what-ifs; if she didn't think about it, she didn't remember it and if she didn't remember it (at that moment), she didn't feel it. In that self-induced coma and cocoon of denial she wrapped herself, in order to protect her wounded heart from bleeding and pushing out large salty tears that would prove to be her undoing if anyone saw. She took a deep breath and blinked a few times. There, all better. Don't think, don't feel. Don't feel, conceal; put on a show; make one wrong move and everyone will know… Oh Oz, anyone who looked at her would know. But it was only for today; she only had to hold on for a few more hours, make as many public appearances that were politely necessary, then she could run to her room, lock the door and cry and cry until her eyes were deeply rimmed with red and she could breathe without it sounding like a sob.

She fortified herself one last time before floating into the heart of the Emerald City for her last appearance. She spied a parade marching through Chartreuse Square, and followed them, floating down as she did so.

Someone had hung a large black wool hat atop an even larger staff in the center of the square. The staff was obviously a Quoxwood tree that someone had freshly cut down (so fresh it looked like it had had roots deep in the earth just that morning), hastily carved grooves into the trunk with the same axe (after hacking of all the limbs and branches), and quickly dipped into dark brown paint. It was a crude representation of Her staff, but it was effective, none the less. The hat, however, was so accurate that it might have been Her hat had it not been so large.

Ozians, young and old, danced around the larger-than-life symbols of the Witch, all the while waving steamers, flags, and bright lights, cheering, and carrying buckets of water (which they dumped onto the hat).

"Good news!" They all sang happily, "she's dead!

"The Witch of the West is dead!" They cried," the wickedest witch there ever was, the enemy to all of us here in Oz, is dead! Good news, oh good news!" They danced and hopped, leapt and twirled, did cartwheels and back-handsprings in their utter glee that the demonic cause of all their fear was-at last!-gone for good. They pranced and skipped down the streets of Oz, singing loudly until they reached the entrance of the Wizard's palace.

As she floated to the ground, Punzel heard someone cry "look! It's Punzel!"

Shouts of "is it really her," "it is," "it's her," "Punzel," and "we love you Punzel!" erupted from the group, tumbling over and under themselves in a growing wave of crescendoing sound until it reached her ears in a cacophony of noise and thrilled nonsense.

She plastered a resplendent smile upon her face before cooing:

"It's good to see me, isn't it?"

"Yes!" They shrieked.

"No need to respond—that was rhetorical." Her fake grin slowly grew into a real one as she tried not to giggle. Oh her sweet Ozians could be so fluff-headed sometimes. Despite their astounding lack of personal thought and brains, and their preference to uniformity and conformity, she loved the citizens of her land very much; almost as much as they loved her in return. She gently landed in front of the crowd before greeting them.

"Fellow Ozians," she began. What she was about to say next she needed to word carefully, else she slip and reveal her true feelings. _Conceal, don't feel…_

"Let us be glad, let us be grateful and rejoicify that goodness could subdue the wicked workings of…" she couldn't say the name, she just couldn't; it hurt too much. It was too soon. If she said Her name her composure would crack and she would expose herself as a traitor to their happiness. She couldn't bring herself to say That name.

"…You-Know-Who!" she finally finished. Luckily no one noticed her slight pause. "Oh! Isn't it nice to know that good will conquer evil," at least that part was true; it didn't matter which person they gave the label 'good' or 'evil;' in the end, goodness had won after all.

"The truth we all believe will by and by outlive a lie," if she had her way, and she usually did, the real truth would soon outlive this lie, "for you and—"

Suddenly her speech was cut off by someone in the crowd:

"Glinda! Exactly how dead is she?"

"Oh, well…because there has been so much rumor and speculation—innuendo, outuendo—let me set the record straight: According to the Time Dragon Clock, The Melting occurred at the thirteenth hour, the direct result of a bucket of water thrown by a female child. Yes, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead," her voice nearly choked on the last word. She had barely finished speaking when another person wildly and quite rudely cried out:

"No one mourns the wicked!" It was as if all they had needed was the confirmazation of the witch's death and couldn't wait to start griping and complaining about how horrendeocious she had been when she was alive.

"No one cries 'they won't return!' " spat a woman.

"No one lays a lily on their grave!" added the crowd.

"A good man scorns the wicked!" yelled a man near the back, giving her a meaningful look. Oh how kind of them to bring that up. That was just what she needed to think about now; not only was her best friend dead, but her ex-fiancé/ her best friend's lover was also dead, thanks to her. How dare they mockify and scorn her former betrothed's name! Even if they were only 'hinting' at his betrayal, that didn't excuse it.

"Through their lives, our children learn," a group of women piped up, nodding their heads in agreement like a flock of geese. _Yes, but not the right lessons_, thought Punzel.

"What we miss when we misbehave…" the crowd finished the thought in unison. Heavens, they really did act as if they were of one mind.

Punzel took a deep breath. Here goes.

"But goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely," she reminded them, raising her eyebrows and giving her best 'wise yet innocent' face, "goodness knows, the wicked die alone!" She choked out the 'die.' _My friend did not deserve to die alone_. "It just shows when you're wicked you're left only on your own." She was alone, she was all alone. She was shunned for speaking out, for doing the right thing. Oh, when did life become so…complicated and topsy-turvy?

"Yes, goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely," the Ozians conceded, "and goodness knows the wicked cry alone! But nothing grows for the wicked, they reap only what they sow!" They maliciously added.

One little girl with her hair in a side braid and wearing a black shimmery dress raised her hand and asked:

"Glinda, why does Wickedness happen?"

That made her think of how She would have answered. _If She were here_, Punzel mused, _She would have had a beautifully philosophical answer so elaboraintracate that it would have confusifyied the Ozians even further! Ah, well…_ She bent down to the little girl's height and answered the little one's question as best she could. She wasn't as wise or as clever as her friend had been, but she could try to be, for her memory's sake.

"That's a good question," she said. "One that many people find confusifying: Are people born Wicked?" she looked up at the crowd and addressed them over the little girl's head, "or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them? After all, she had a childhood. She had a father, who just happened to be the Governor of Arendelle of Northern Munchkinland, and she had a mother, as so many do!

"And I suppose, like every family, they had their secrets, but it was from the moment she was born that she was… well, different! As you can imagine, it was quite a shock to find yourself the parent to a green baby, and I'm afraid her parents took the news quite hard; especially her father. I'm afraid he took it even worse than the mother." Another person in the crowd raised their hand, much like the child before her, and stepped forward.

"Punzel!" he cried, "where does Wickedness come from?" Once again, she was stunned. Could her Ozians really be asking logical, coherent questions that they thought of themselves? Oh my…this was a lot to take in! Such progress, and in less than 24 hours!

"Uh, w-well…" she stuttered, "there are lots of beliefs about where wickedness come from. Some people believe that you are born with the…tendency towards that disposition, while others believe that people grow up to become wicked. It's a simple combination of nature, nurture, and perspective, really." Now she was just repeating herself. Hopefully they weren't clever enough yet to understand that.

"Perspective?" asked the little girl in front of her.

"Yes, dear, perspective. As the Wizard used to say, before he took that unexpected leave of absence, in the land he comes from 'history is all in perspective,' and we would all do good to remember that. Does that answer your question?" The person nodded and slid back into the crowd.

"So naturally, with nurture and perspective against her, it couldn't have been easy! Let us do the right thing, the kind thing, the _good_ thing and pity her, for it was her life that made her so wicked, not wickedness that made her life."

"No! No one mourns the wicked!" the crowd protested firmly. Punzel's form slumped ever so slightly. Alas, they still hadn't quite achieved free will and independent thought yet, and her message had sailed right over their heads. She would have to try again later, once they had calmed down a bit and she had had that good long cry she was looking forward to.

"Now, at last, she's dead and gone!" _Yes…She's gone. _And they were back to celebrating and singing their song about Her death. One had to wonder, did people start writing these songs as soon as they heard the rumors of the witch's death, or had they written these ahead of time?

"Now, at last! There's joy throughout the land! _Well, not all throughout…_

"And," she joined in, "goodness knows!"

"_We_ know what goodness is," they smugly added, _oh the irony…_"Goodness knows…"

"Her life was lonely!"

"Goodness knows, the wicked die alone!"

"She died alone!" she cried. It was truly astounding how heartless they were acting. Granted, The Wicked Winter Witch of the West had been their enemy for at least three years running now, and was thought of as, all things considered, a terrorist who had disturbed their 'peaceful' existence with her 'lies.' She had merely-Oz forbid-threatened their ignorant, malnourishing state of bliss with the harsh, yet clean reality of truth. The good thing to do was not to hate the enemy but to pity her; ask oneself what had happened to her to turn her this way, and sympathize for her pain.

And there had been plenty of pain. Punzel remembered the nightmares She had had, back when they were roommates; there had been plenty of bad memories haunting her friend's past, most of which loved to prey upon her while she was sleeping. Hate could only breed more contempt and disgust for the fallen enemy, and it would only kill the light and the good until there was nothing but a raging sea of multiplying bitterness, despair, anger, and fear. Like a moth in a thunderstorm, her gossamer wings were absorbing the negativity from the sea of hate before her. And if she didn't leave soon, she would drown in it, delicate feelers reaching for air and safety as they dragged her under.

"Woe to those who spurn what goodness is; they are shunned! No one mourns the wicked!" they gleefully cried. She sang "good news," along with them with a cheery smile still glued in place; the prize of never showing true emotions for the last five years…

"No one mourns the wicked!"

"Good news!" she needed to leave, and soon.

"No one mourns…the Wicked...Wicked…Wicked!"

She felt her eyes starting to tear up. She needed to make her exit. Now!

"Well, this has been fun," she said, starting the edge toward her bubble, "but as you can imagine, I have so much to attend to, so much to arrange, and so many people to talk to what with the Wizard's unexpected departure. And so, if there are no further questions-"

Suddenly, someone in the crowd interrupted her:

"Glinda! Is it true—you were her friend?!" The crowd gasped in disbelief, and whispers trickled from ear to ear. Punzel froze about a foot away from the safety of her bubble, completely thrown.

"Uhm… Well, I… I… Yes," she finally stuttered out. This time an even bigger gasp came from the crowd as people gaped at their idol.

"Well, it depends on what you mean by 'friend,' " she added hastily.

"I did know her. That is, our paths did cross, at school you see… but you must understand it was a long time ago, and we were both very young." In her mind's eye she could see Her as she had nearly ten years ago—_was it ten years already?_—young, hopeful, and green.

Oh, she had looked so excited back then…

"We were not close at all mind you, we barely knew each other. In fact, if you asked one of our former classmates, they could easily tell you that we loathed each other from the beginning." This was greeted with silence from the crowd; they still appeared to be stunned. After several more seconds of near perfect silence, she cleared her throat uncomfortably

"And now, you must excuse me, I'm late for a meeting with the ministers of Munchkinland." And with that, Punzel calmly mounted her bubble in a series of controlled steps, slowly floating up into the dark grey sky, a serene smile on her face, calmly waving at the crowd until she was out of sight.

"Bubble," she whispered, "Take me home." She clicked her heels thrice and closed her eyes. Normally she preferred to have her eyes open during the ride; seeing Oz from a bird's eye view was such a lovely sight. But today she could not bear seeing another paganistic ritual starring her friend as the villain.

She did not open them until she was at her bedroom window. She floated into the room like a leaf on a breeze. As soon as her feet daintily touched the ground, her bubble disappeared with a soft _pop_, leaving its creation mechanism behind. She picked it up and placed it on her dresser with great care before heading to her walk-in closet. True, she couldn't wait to cry, but it wouldn't do if she ruined this dress—people would notice and wonder. If she could wait an entire day to let out her feelings, she could wait five minutes more to change her clothes.

After carefully unlacing the back and stepping out of the sparkly, poufy skirts, she hung the twinkly garment on a hanger. She slowly undressed, refolding her underwear and putting each piece back in its proper place before donning a soft cotton nightgown and a satin robe.

She approached the entrance to the heart of her quarters. Only two people had ever been inside: herself, and Fiyero. She did not allow anyone else inside her deepest sanctuary. It was her most private spot in the world and she'd fight tooth and nail to keep it that way. She carefully entered the magic password/code that she herself had installed and entered her quarters, closing the door behind her.

There were two reasons why she never let anyone into her room. Reason one was because if they ever saw it, they would never look at her the same way again; if they had stumbled into the heart, ignorant of the knowledge that it was hers, they never would have guessed that it was.

Paint adorned every surface in unique, colorful designs, spiraling on furniture and walls alike. Art, especially drawing and painting, was her secret passion- one that she used whenever she needed to blow off steam or relax. Her artwork was visual poetry straight from her heart and to let someone see it was to let them into her heart completely, to give them her complete trust.

Reason two was because of The painting.

The painting hung on the backest back wall, covered by a long, white sheet. It was quite large in size, an original by the artist that Punzel had always kept as a reminder of what once was. She only looked at it on special occasions. This was one such occasion.

She grabbed the edge of the sheet, and, with a quick flick of her wrist, unveiled the precious painting.

It was a painting of a woman's face and neck, going down a little past the woman's shoulders, on a plain cream background. She had a heart-shaped face mainly dominated by a pair of large aqua-colored eyes framed with thick dark brown lashes. Her cheekbones were still somewhat obscured by a tiny bit of baby fat still clinging to the bones, and above her small yet prominent chin hung an equally small, thin-lipped mouth—painted a deep red with cosmetics—the corners turned up slightly in a small smile. Her thick, wavy, dark brown hair (which was really an odd blend of dark red, light brown, dark brown, ash blonde and even black) had a few curious streaks of light blonde fanning out from the peak, and was loosely braided into a relaxed French braid, with the end draped over her left shoulder, tied off with a dark blue string. She was dressed in a matching dark blue dress that complemented her hair and eyes perfectly, but clashed subtlety with her lime-peel-toned skin.

Punzel dragged a chair in front of the painting and hesitated. She stared up at the painting. She had done an excellent job, really. It was so lifelike she half-expected the picture to blink or breathe. She sat down in front of it and gazed up at her friend's light green face.

"Oh, Elsa," she sighed, tears pooling in her celery green eyes, "What am I going to do?"

**Just for future notice, I'm trying to post every Thursday or so (I started this story just as I hit my 'busy season.' whoops), but don't hold me to it.**

**Again, please, review or PM me with your opinion(s)! I wanna know what you think! (Your hopes, your dreams… ;) ) Lemme know if you saw any weak spots in the text, or something else that could be improved upon. Cookies will go to those who review! :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Just as a warning, for those of you who want to read this and are antsy for me to write from the musical's script and get to the 'actual' story like i did in chapter 1 (wow was that a horrible run-on sentence), I'm not gonna hit that stuff for a couple of chapters. I want to do this 'right' (as I see it), and be as thorough with the story as possible, so it may take a while (and from your perspective, it'll move slowly). But I promise, every scene that I post is *important,* and is needed to develop the story properly. I'm afraid we won't see Elsa go to Shiz for at least 3 more chapters after this one, maybe more. However, I'm shortening the length of my chapters, so hopefully they'll go by quicker (and people won't be so daunted by the 3,000+ word count XD).**

**There's a lot of background left to cover before we reach the real 'beginning' of the story.**

**This story really has five parts:**

**Part 1 Elsa's conception, birth, and childhood before she came to Shiz (or, as I bet some of you will christen it, 'the boring stuff)**

**Part 2 Elsa arrives at Shiz, and life moves forward following the musical's plot-line (with a few deviations ;) )**

**Part 3 Elsa rebels against society, becoming 'the Wicked Winter Witch of the West' in the public's eyes**

**Part 4 Elsa's transition into her 'Wicked' side**

**Part 5 Dorothy arrives in Oz (and you all basically know the rest. Or do you...O.o ?)**

**So just hang in there with me until we hit the 'fun' stuff ok? Great-no, wonderful! ;)**

**So...here's the next one. Enjoy!**

Chapter 2: the Governor and his Wife

25 years ago…

"I'm off to the Assembly, dear!" shouted Frexland Porth, the ruling Governor of Arendelle. _Hopefully she'll stay well-behaved while I'm gone_, he thought, _and no more of this 'running away' nonsense!_ He straightened his collar in the hallway mirror and smoothed down his hair, making sure everything was ready for the meeting.

"Dear?" he called again, looking up the long staircase of their home. Where was she?

"Coming! I'm coming!" came his lovely wife's voice from their bedroom. A few seconds later she darted out of the open doorway, hurriedly tucking a few stray hairs behind her ears, and began to run down the stairs, her hurried feet banging against the polished marble with every step.

"Slowly!" He cried sternly, "the wife of a governor does not run, nor should she ever have an occasion to run!" Immediately she obliged and calmly walked down the rest of the stairs, her long silver-grey skirts held in one hand, the other tracing the hand rail. Even when the elaborate pile of braids atop her head were slightly askew, and her gown looked like it had been hastily donned, she still managed to look hauntingly beautiful. His angel, fallen from the sky into his lap. If only she were not so willful!

"Barefoot again, I see?" He asked her when she reached the landing. He tsked his tongue disapprovingly, raising an eyebrow, and she quickly dropped her skirts as if they had burned her. "What have I told you about appearances?"

She bowed her head meekly and replied

"They are everything, my Lord, and one must never forget that." Fortunately, with her head bowed he could not see her gritted teeth. He put his hands on her shoulders, then slowly lifted her chin with one hand until she was forced to look him in the eyes, and smile serenely.

"Oh," he sighed, "how I hate to go and leave you lonely with no one to watch you while I'm gone."

"Oh my Lord I'll be fine—it's only just one night," she simpered. He missed the gleam of hatred that flashed briefly across her eyes.

"Just know that you'll be in my thoughts…and my heart," he added as an afterthought, "when I'm out of your sight, and I expect your thoughts to be the same."

"Yes, my Lord, I can promise you that all my thoughts will be of the most important man in my life," she hid a smirk from him.

"Wonderful," he replied. "I'll see you tomorrow my dear. And remember—no running off or escape attempts, understood? Because if you do I _will_ hear about them and I will…make you reconsider."

"Understood my Lord."

"Good. Farewell, my wife." He kissed her cheek and then closed the door behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut, she ran up the stairs to her—their—bedroom and immediately grabbed the towel from the wash-basin. She furiously scrubbed her cheek with it, trying to get every last remnant of _Him_ off of her, shuddering as she cleaned.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. She straightened quickly, and darted to the window. She cautiously peaked through the gap between the curtains. It wasn't her husband, thank Oz. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her posture relaxed. It could however be someone in the Village, sent to check up on her. As quietly as she could, she dashed on tip-toes down the stairs and to the door, grabbing a pair of shoes as she did so. She stopped to put them on at the landing. The person knocked again, harder.

"Coming!" she cried. She quickly checked herself in the hall mirror to make sure everything looked perfect; everything had to be perfect else her husband would hear about it. More knocking, even more insistent.

"For Oz's sake I'm coming!" She yelled. She composed herself before wrenching the door open and barking

"What?" Dammit. She'd lost her temper anyway. She closed her eyes for a moment and counted backwards from ten. If it was one of her husbands' "spies" then she was in deep, deep trouble tomorrow. She cleared her throat and opened her eyes with a calm smile and said

"Hi, can I help y—" the words dried up on her tongue as she took in the person before her.

The young man on her doorstep still had his deep green eyes on a promotional pamphlet, reading off his pitch word for word, and hadn't looked up at her yet. She let herself drink him in as he babbled about Dizzy's fizzy cleaner or something. She felt her knees give and she clutched the doorframe for support.

"…so, what d'ya think? How many cases can I put you down for?" He finally looked up at her and their eyes met. His mouth fell open. All she could do was stare as he gasped for air, those soft lips opening and closing as he tried to talk. She shook her head and said loudly

"Why yes, I'd love a demonstration of how your product works. Do come in, and be sure to wipe your feet." She motioned for him to come inside before shutting the door behind them.

Nearly 10 months later…

The Governor of Arendelle paced impatiently outside their bedroom door. The midwife had insisted that he wait outside until after the birth. It was absurd, absolutely absurd! He had every right to be in there as his wife did. Still, the midwife had said that his presence would do more harm than help, so he had given in and left. Another contraction hit and his wife cried out so loudly that it was as if he was on the other side of the blasted door instead. It sounded like she was being tortured. He huffed and leaned against a nearby wall.

He could still hear his wife's agonized screams as she gave birth to their firstborn, though they were dying down as the contraction passed. The baby was coming quickly—a half a month earlier than predicted! It was so odd—they had looked forward to this day for months (well he had, anyway), and yet, here it was, earlier than planned, and he didn't feel the way he thought he would. Maybe it was because his wife's uterus was so frail that it gave in to the baby's whim. Perhaps it was because everything was not going the way they had planned. He detested when things erred from the schedule. With no rules, no order, there would be naught but chaos. And chaos was the sacrilegious Lurline's playground. He shuddered. Yes, with order there was a path, and with a path there was righteousness. He tried to enforce this on every citizen of his tiny domain, for it was his sacred duty as the divine and just leader of his people to shepherd them on the path of righteousness; to walk in the holy footsteps of the Unnamed—

His mental zealous religious fervor was interrupted by a sharp cry coming behind the door. It was too high to be his wife and yet it was too soon for the baby to be born—the shortest recorded time of a birth was five hours. It was simply not possible for the baby to be born in less than four hours! Then he heard the midwife calling for him through the door.

He swung open the door to see what was wrong—for surely, something must be wrong—and saw, sweet Oz, he saw nestled in the Midwife's bloody arms…the most unnatural thing in all of the Unnamed God's creation. A bizarre green-tinted babe was squirming and crying in the Midwife's arms as the female stood frozen in the act of bathing it.

"What's wrong?" cried his wife, her lovely brow furrowing. She turned to the Midwife. "I don't understand, you said it was healthy!"

"S-sir, I don't know how in Oz this happened! Never in all of my days-" babbled the dumbstruck midwife.

"Sweet Oz! It's atrocious! It's obscene!" cried the Governor. How in the Unnamed God's non-existent name had his wife given birth to that…that…demon? The Midwife trailed off and now seemed at loss of what to say. She kept glancing from the exhausted woman on the bed to her husband.

"What's WRONG?" cried his wife, impatiently awaiting an answer.

"What's wrong, she cries, what's wrong," he mocked her voice in a rusty falsetto. "This is what's wrong! Like a…froggy…ferny…cabbage, the baby is…is GREEN!"

"What?! Do you mean she can't breathe or something?" His idiot wife yelled, still unable to comprehend. She straightened up in bed as best she could, trying to get a glimpse of the thing still contained within the cage of the Midwife's arms.

"NO," he bellowed, "I mean IT is GREEN." By this time, the Midwife had snapped out her shock and fear just enough to go an autopilot. She finished cleaning the babe and swaddled the little girl in a smooth pink blanket. The Governor barely glanced at the squirming infant before growling to her.

"Take it away." When she didn't move he yelled louder "Take IT AWAY! Get it OUT OF MY SIGHT!" He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Oh, the disgrace that would be brought upon his family if news of this ever leaked out among his people. There would be rumors about how this was a sign stating that he and his line were no longer fit to rule over Arendelle. And then, oh then! Then, he and his wife and that…thing would be driven from their own home, forced to watch as some other unworthy family moved into their home, used their things, ordered their servants, ate off of their plates! And worst of all, he would no longer be able to lead his people by the hand to the way of the Unnamed God! All his people lost, because of that wretched monster. His affection for the babe had grown sweetly, gradually, while it had remained hidden inside his wife's womb, and yet, how quickly it had transformed to hate once the thing was seen as it truly was. His wife had always said that it felt like a parasite had taken root inside her, sucking away all of her strength and vitality from her frame. Hopefully his wife could be persuaded to part with the damned thing and they could dispose of it properly, then spread rumors that it had been stillborn. He did hope she had not become attached to it; he had often heard that once the babe was placed in the mother's arms, an immediate bond was forged that was stronger than steel and longer lasting than stone.

The Midwife, of course, would have to go. Swearing her to secrecy might suffice, but it wasn't air tight; he liked air-tight plans. Exile was always an option, but once she was out of earshot, her lips could waggle and then where would they be? Death was always a possibility…but then, good midwives for so hard to come by these days, and if he and his wife ever decided to try again…He would think on it more. But first, a trip to the local church. He needed to consult the Unnamed God for guidance and strength through this misfortune.

**I know that I said that I wanted to upload on Thursdays, but I decided to upload early again. I have been on writing fire every day for the last week, so I felt that I should upload some new material. I've been so antsy to see what you people think! And on that note...**

**I also noticed that no one reviews. Please review my fanfic. It would make my ever-lovin' day even if you just left a tiny note saying something about how you feel about the story so far, or what you predict will happen next, or heck, complain about how my descriptions are too long if you want to! I don't care! As long as your reviews are mine! I'll wake up my imagination for you guys every day and make up for lost time! ;)**


	4. Chapter 3

**I also wrote this in a whirlwind of creativity and wanted to share it, while I'm up for sharing things today. I'm also going to copy and paste the "I own nothing" list on my Account page, so that I don't have to paste it into every single chapter (seriously, that thing is _long_).**

**Bonus chapter! Whoo! (runs laps around room yelling/ singing "this girl is on fire!" with hands up in air in victory)**

Chapter 3: A Visitor

Yackle wrapped her old frail-looking knuckles against the worn brass door-knocker and banged it three times. She stood in silence as she waited, leaning on her old Quoxwood cane. A few minutes passed. She banged it again. _Klok klok klok_. There was a muffled thump and a cry of "just a minute!" before the door was quickly opened by the lovely Governor's wife.

"Oh, Madame Yaccelle, hello! I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you today!" the woman said nervously, blindly reaching up and tucking stray hairs into her braided bun.

"That's perfectly alright dear, Yackle never said she'd be dropping by!" cackled the old woman. "And please, just Yackle is fine."

"Oh," the younger woman looked confused. "Ahem, was there a reason that you dropped by?" she asked, trying not to sound rude or too impatient.

"Yes, of course dear! Heh heh, Yackle wouldn't have climbed all those steep stairs with her weak old bones for nothing!" cried the old woman. When she gave no further explanation, the governor's wife raised her brows as if to say '…well?'

"It's about your little one," she paused for dramatic effect, noting how the new mother's eyes widened and her body stiffened. Her eyes cooled and she straightened her spine. Yackle wanted to smile at the mother tiger's act of strength.

"E-elsaba?" the younger woman asked, looking suspicious.

"Yes, dear, you see there are all sorts of rumors spreading throughout the village, and Yackle came to sort out the fact from the fiction. Yackle was hoping to see her today. Is the little one recovering from the sudden illness she caught at birth?" Yackle hid her smirk. Caught a sudden illness indeed. The governor was the worse liar in all of Arendelle. She pushed past the younger woman surprisingly with no trouble and limped into the house.

"Yackle would like to see the little one! Where is she—napping?" the Governor's wife had closed the door and now blocked the stairs in a subconscious attempt to protect her newborn from the village kook. Madame Yaccelle peered around the younger woman's thin frame as if the newborn was hiding right behind her, and merely taking a step to the side would make a difference and reveal the new babe. The Mother moved to block her view. Madame Yaccelle always did make her feel uneasy, but she was acting creepier and more squirrelly than usual.

"Yes she is, but I'm afraid you can't see her. She's still very tired and very weak, and her father and I have agreed that she have no visitors. Any new people could add new dangers to the atmosphere and slow her recovery."

"Ah yes, you know best dearie. In that case, will you answer some questions Yackle has instead?"

The other woman relaxed subtly. "Certainly."

"Wonderful," the old woman paused for a moment, frowning, then said "but first, permission for the use of your water closet? Yackle didn't go before she left the house and—"

"Upstairs, all the way down the hall, on your left," the younger woman said hurriedly, cutting off Yackle before she could give a full description of her bowels and how they worked.

"Thank you dear. Be right back in a few ticks of the Time dragon!" Yackle slowly began to inch up the stairs at a snail's pace, her oiled cane tapping against each step as she leaned on it for balance.

After a few steps the Governor's wife said impatiently, "I'll be in the sitting room when you come back," and walked away. Once the woman's back was turned, Yackle picked up her cane and quickly walked up the stairs, trying to make no noise. She limped down the long hallways of the upper floors until she reached the nursery.

Cracking open the door carefully, She scurried over to the cradle where the tiny infant slept. Gently, with calloused deeply wrinkled hands, she scooped up the snoozing baby and cradled her in her old arms. The little girl twitched slightly in her sleep but didn't stir. Yackle's lined face rearranged itself into a wise grin. She gently held the babe, watching it sleep.

"Yackle is afraid that she took a little long in coming, little one, and she is sorry" she murmured, "but your mother is a stubborn protective woman. You and Yackle are in the need of a little chat.

"You are destined for great things, little one; you have been touched by Lurline thrice, which is the greatest gift she had ever given since The Creation thousands of years ago. Yackle knows that you will grow to despise these gifts, and think them curses placed upon your tiny head, but believe Yackle; they are the most sacred gifts an Ozian could receive.

"You, Elsaba Dagny Porth, born of parents of a different land but conceived and born on native soil, will do great things. Great, wonderful, wicked things that will shake Oz to its very poisoned core. You see," she paused, crossing the nursery to the rocking chair. Her bones needed resting and sweet Oz, babes weighed more than she remembered! She sank into the seat's cushion. Ah—much better.

"Oz needs someone to cleanse the evil from her borders. In the most recent of centuries following The Creation, Oz has begun to rot and spoil itself as people have begun to turn their backs on Lurline and the old ways; shunning the very deity that gave their ancestors life.

"Oz is cannibalizing herself and her people as time marches on, and the Ozians steadily become more corrupt. We never see this problem in Ev or Dreamland," she huffed, frustrated.

"They know of the old ways and practice them steadily, thanking Lurline for their prolonged existence. Ozians have also grown stupider over the last few decades, following their politicians like milk-minded sheep, only caring where the food and entertainment is. Panem e circuses, that's all the people care about. Food and entertainment." She trailed off, lost in thought, remembering a cleaner, better time, when life was simple and people could be free to be different. She shook her old head slowly then redirected her attention once more to the sleeping baby girl nestled in her arms.

"But don't you fret, my pet," she purred "you needn't worry about that yet. You focus on growing big and strong into Lurlina's greatest warrior. And Yackle promises," She leaned in to whisper into the babe's tiny emerald ears, "Yackle will watch over you. And once Yackle makes a promise," the hag grinned a nearly-toothless smile, "Yackle never breaks it! Hee hee!" she giggled quietly. She snuck back to the cradle. Replacing the infant back where she'd originally lain, the hag limped to the door. "Sweet dreams, my pet!" she cackled, closing the door softly.

"Ah, thank you for letting Yackle use the water closet, dear!" she cried as she slowly limped down the stairs. The Governor's wife poked her fair head out of a nearby doorway.

"I hope you found it without much trouble; you were gone an awfully long time!"

"Ah yes, fine, fine; old bones means everything moves slowly dear!" cackled the old woman. She reached the landing. "So sorry, but Yackle really must be leaving you now!"

"Oh, so soon? But you were barely here to visit! I never answered any of your questions!"

"Ah yes dear, but Yackle has an appointment with someone else today, and knowing how quick her stride is, Yackle must leave know if she plans to arrive on time!" The mother smiled politely but her eyes betrayed her confusion. People always forget how the eyes are the windows of the soul, mused Yackle.

"Well, it is a shame that you must leave so soon, but it was nice seeing you anyway, brief as it was." The Governor's wife politely escorted the old woman out the door and to the great flight of stairs leading down the hill from the house.

"You too dear, you too! It's good to see that you're holding up despite the stress!" called Yackle over her shoulder as she begin to descend the stairs.

"Thank you, good-bye!" the wife waved until Yackle was nearly out of sight, then hurriedly closed the door. Whirling around she flew up the stairs two at a time and raced down the hall until she reached the nursery door.

Yackle grinned again, still calmly walking. That woman. She pretended to be so meek and calm and polite, but underneath was the soul of a fierce tigress. She commended her acting ability; it took great strength indeed to hold back a spirit that wild.

The woman hurriedly pushed open the door, and, breathing heavily, strode over to the cradle in three long strides. She quickly scooped up the babe and hugged her child to her. She crossed to the window and pulled back one of the lacy curtains with one hand.

Yackle kissed the pads of the pinkie, middle finger, and index finger of her right hand and lightly tapped her chin then her collarbone.

"May the blessing of Lurline be with you, child from the outside," she murmured with a smile as she headed down the hill.

The mother stared at Madame Yackle's retreating figure, a mere dark blot against the light brown of the road's dust, before looking back down at her green baby. She cautiously sniffed the swaddling blanket. Yes, Yackle had been here. She sank into a nearby chair, brushing strands of blonde away from her face.

"What did Yackle want with you, kjæreste?" she asked her child quietly, watching her daughter's sleeping face. Neither mother nor child moved for several moments, one lost amid worried thoughts and the other wandering amidst nonexistent dreams of fuzz. Then the little girl began to wake from her nap, loudly exclaiming the only way she could that she wanted milk, and the moment was forgotten by both parties.

**Now, here's a question for you guys: did you notice the missing thing in the last chapter? Do you know what it is? Answer me in the reviews!**

**Remember, reviews are my center! Do it! I command thee!**

***Comments after correcting some stuff***

**Hey guys- sorry, those of you who follow this will find that I made a couple of changes to the description and rating. For now, I'm keeping it at 'T', because nothing's gonna happen for a while (sorry). I think I'll change it back to 'M' later on in the story. I also changed the description so that it makes more sense and tells more about what I plan to do with this. I'm working on chapters 4 and 5 for you guys, and I should have chapter 4 up by Wednesday of Thursday (depends on how much I get done during the week). Thursday at the latest, definitely.**

**Until then, happy reading! (And a spontaneous shout-out to theTwentyNineth, The Box, fUnKyToEs, Foxy'sGirl, bri-happy, and Magicath- you guys ****inspire me/ **are what keep me writing!)


	5. Chapter 4

******I'm getting more impatient uploading stuff, so chapter 4 will come early. I'll post chapter 5 this Wednesday or Thursday instead. Happy reading!**  


Three years later…

"Mama, mama!" cried Elsa. Her mother looked up from her writing as her first born dashed towards her, holding something between cupped hands, and smiled. Elsa couldn't wait to show her mother her new talent; her mama was sure to be so proud once she saw what she could do!

She reached her mother, who held out her hands expectantly, smiling. Elsa's smile grew as she opened her tiny hands to reveal…nothing. Her mother's smile disappeared as she frowned confusedly.

"Kjæreste, I thought you said you had something to show me." She blinked slowly. Elsa's smile grew even wider.

"I do!" she cried.

"Well then, where is it?" asked her mother.

"Watch!" Elsa waved her hands as if she was rubbing them together for warmth, or shaping an invisible ball between her palms. Slowly a tiny spark came to life at the center of her movements, beginning to grow in size and sprouting branches until it became a perfect, unnaturally large snowflake. Elsa's hands stopped moving and the snowflake bobbed, suspended on an unseen breeze above her palms.

"Whacha think mama?" the little girl asked, so proud of her newfound trick. Her mother sat dumbstruck as the frozen crystal hovered over her daughter's hands. Her pad and pencil slid off her lap and softly landed on the grass as her grip slackened.

"Elsa, how did you do that?" she gasped. Elsa shrugged. "I dunno, I just..." She gestured her hands for emphasis before letting the snowflake poof out of existence. Her hands dropped to her sides as she curiously watched her mother's stunned reaction. Her mother carefully slid out of her chair before she knelt in front of her daughter. Slowly a smile full of child-like wonder spread across the woman's face and she shyly demanded

"Do it again." Elsa grinned and stared at her hands in concentration as she repeated the motion. Soon a different snowflake, just as large as the first, but differently patterned, floated in the air. Elsa beamed up at her mother. But when she saw her face, she frowned worriedly instead; there were tears forming in her mother's crystal-blue eyes.

"Mama, are you okay?" she asked. She didn't mean to make her mama cry. The woman met her daughter's eyes and gave her a watery smile.

"Yes, dear, I'm perfectly fine." Elsa cocked her head to the side.

"Then why are you crying?" She asked. In response, her mother leaned forward and grasped her shoulders.

"I'm just so proud of you, kjæreste," sniffed her mother. Elsa studied each of her mother's hands, trying to understand why she was being held so tightly. Her mother was never that affectionate. Sure, she was gobs more affectionate than her father, but her mother was not usually a touchy-feely woman. She looked up to ask when suddenly her mother bent forward and clasped her in a tight hug. She could feel her mother crying over her shoulder. Shocked at her mother's uncharacteristic actions, Elsa raised her arms from their frozen position and awkwardly patted and rubbed her mother on the back until she let go.

"Can you do anything other than snowflakes?" her mother asked in a rough voice as she leaned back. She cleared her throat awkwardly and sniffled. She ungracefully swiped at her wet eyes and nose with a wrist, smearing make-up, snot, and tears on her arm. Elsa shrugged.

"I dunno, I made a 'noflake before I showed you, that's all."

"Well go on, kjæreste, go on!" her mother nodded encouragingly, gesturing for the girl to try.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the garden as Elsa practiced with her new-found magic, her mother giving suggestions and sharing ideas with her.

As the day grew short and the sun began to dip behind the trees, they got up and began the long trek back to the mansion, holding hands. Elsa was still excited from the day's activities, and skipped along as her mother walked smoothly beside her, lost in thought. About half way up the path, her mother paused.

"Elsa?" She asked. The little girl paused her skipping for a moment to look up at her mother's face with round blue eyes.

"Yes mama?" Her mother squatted down to her daughter's level and took both of her hands in her own.

"How about we keep this between you and me, okay?" Elsa cocked her head to the side.

"But why? Won't daddy be happy?" Her mother winced slightly before answering.

"…I don't think so kjæreste. You know how he feels about anything different." Elsa nodded.

"Down with Lurline, all praise the Unnamed God!" cried the little girl, imitating her father. She threw her little fists up in the air and pacing as he did when he went on one of his religious rants. Her mother smiled at her antics.

"Yes, dear, that's right. So I want you to promise that you won't tell him or the servants about this." Elsa frowned and squirmed under her mother's serious gaze as children normally do. Her mother grabbed her chin firmly, and pointed it towards her to meet her eyes.

"Do you understand me? This needs to be kept between us unless I say so. Do you promise?" Elsa blinked. She didn't entirely understand why this was so important to her mother, but if she wanted her to promise, then—

"I promise mama." The woman sighed in relief and released her daughter's chin. She held her arms open wide.

"Now, who wants a hug?" she asked smiling. Elsa grinned. Two hugs in one day? She needed to discover newfound magical powers more often!

"I do, I do!" she ran into her mother's waiting arms, nearly knocking her over, and was rewarded with a big bear hug.

"Oof!" She grunted before asking

"Do you want to walk back up to the house or do you want to be carried?"

"Carried!" cried Elsa.

"Ok, here we go!" said her mother.

"Up, mama, up!" cried the little girl excitedly as her mama scooped her up and headed towards to house in the fading twilight.

**So yes, even though Elsa was born with her powers, they didn't really manifest until she was about three. Did'ja like the mother-daughter moment I had there?**

**Remember, reviews are my center! (And don't worry, there IS Jelsa coming up, you just hafta wait for it 3) Review! Please! Even if English isn't your first language, or if you can't speak it at all, I appreciate any reviews you send my way! Any at all! Cookies to any/ all who read and review my work!**

**(And were any of you able to answer my question from the last chapter? ;) )**

**This is my first fanfic, and I'm trying to be very delicate about where I'm going, respect the story, and write the characters as best as I can. This is my writing baby, and I want to 'raise' it right. So I'm sorry if any of you find this too detailed or slow-moving. It's how I do a project; it has to be perfect, it's very detailed and intricate, and at first it's downright confusing, but once it's finished you understand it better. In other words, I know that it seems boring, but these few chapters are the foundation of the story! All of these scenes are important, I swear to (insert Deity of your choice here). So please, stick with me. I have an actual plan here.**

**~Beth**


	6. Chapter 5

**No intro today. I just swear that this is the last 'one-shot' thing that I'll do. Next chapter, I promise, things are gonna be interesting. Hee-hee-hee… ~rubs hands together gleefully~**

**But for now, just enjoy this sweet moment.**

**~Beth**

Chapter 5: The Queen of Birds 

Elsa opened her wide blue eyes and blinked as her pupils slowly adjusted to the light. It was a little after midnight, yet the three-year-old was wide awake. The full moon sent smooth silver beams through the curtains of the nursery, leaving pools of blue-white scattered across the floor, bed, and Elsa's face. Her lips quirked up in a grin as Elsa bounded out of bed and skipped to the door. She stood on tiptoe, turned the knob and darted down the hall, a little green sprite in her white nightgown slipping in and out of the moonbeams speckling the hallway.

She reached her parent's bedroom and slipped inside. Mama and Papa were both sound asleep. Papa was snoring on his side, facing away from the door. Mama was on her stomach, her face smooshed into the pillow, her flaxen hair spread across her face and shoulders in messy rivers of light yellow. Her left arm was hanging over the side and her concealed face was turned towards the door, as if she'd been waiting for Elsa.

Elsa tiptoed to her mother's sleeping form and tugged at her hand. Mama groaned and twitched in her sleep, her hand flopping a little. Elsa frowned and tugged a little harder, something akin to the way a bell ringer tugs at the ropes of the heavy chapel bell for matins.

"Mama?" she hissed, "are you awake?" Mama groaned again and rolled over, pulling her hand from Elsa's as she did so. Elsa huffed in frustration. Very well. She climbed onto the bed, tiny fingers digging into the thick covers for hand holds as she half dragged, half climbed onto the mattress. Once she had reached the top, she crawled up the bed to her mother's face. She pulled back an eyelid cautiously, waving her other hand. Nothing. She let the eyelid go and it creepily slid shut. She humphed and crossed her arms. Oh well. Desperate times…

She poised, waiting, then she jumped onto her mother's exposed side, landing hard just below the ribs. Instantly, her mother shot up in bed, grabbing her 'attacker' by the collar and drawing back a fist to punch the unfortunate soul who had awoken her. Her eyes focused on the small frame in her hand, and, recognizing it, released her daughter as she relaxed.

"What is it Elsa?" she yawned, running a hand through her hair, "why'd you wake me up?"

Elsa, already recovered from her mother's near attack, chirped "I wanna play!" Her mother blinked at her. She knew she was only half-awake but she was sure that wouldn't've made any sense even if she was fully alert.

"At," she glanced at the clock on the wall, "nearly two in the morning?" Elsa shrugged and bounced slightly on the mattress; giddy with childish energy.

"The sky's awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!" Her mother glanced at her husband, who had slept through all of this.

He grumbled in his sleep, "wha, whazit? Whz-ron'?" she patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"Nothing's wrong, go back to sleep." She looked back at her daughter. Elsa widened her already huge blue eyes as far as they could go, stuck out her lower lip, clasped her hands together and begged.

"Please, Mama, please!" she said. Her mother sighed and rubbed her forehead. Elsa knew what that look did to her. After nearly five minutes of resisting (a new record), she threw her hands up in defeat.

"Fine!" she said, rolling her eyes, "let's go play."

"Yay!"Cried Elsa. Her 'pouting face' disappeared as she clapped her hands with excitement. Her mother shushed her as she slid out of bed.

"Your Papa's still sleeping." Her mother slid on an old pair of fur-lined boots before lifting her daughter off of the bed and depositing her to the floor. Elsa snatched her hand and pulled her out the door and down the hall.

"Where are we going?" her mother whisper-shouted.

"The garden!" cried Elsa. They slipped out through the back door and ran across the grass to the wrought iron gate. Mama unlatched it, and it swung open with a faint squeak. The two giggling females padded inside. They spent the next two hours doing anything they could think of to have fun. Elsa practiced her magic, flash-freezing different flowers. She skipped lightly from bloom to bloom, zapping a bud randomly before snapping the head clean off. She soon had a small pile, which she arranged into a unique bouquet for her mother. Her mother beamed and thanked her, helping her tie it together with long strips of grass.

Elsa made it snow briefly on one patch of the lawn and they built snowmen, snowwomen, snowgirls, and snowAnimals, before their building/ sculpting session turned into a spontaneous snowball fight. Mama was nearly no match for her daughter; Elsa had recently learned how to form snowballs without picking up snow. However, she was almost as fast as her daughter, even though she formed snowballs the 'normal' way, so they were evenly matched.

When they tired of that, they ran to the orchards and played hide-and-go-seek behind the trees. After a while, the thrill of hiding in the dark wore off and they looked for something else to do.

It was Mama's idea to climb the trees. Using her toes and her fingertips, Mama found hand-holds in the near-smooth bark and climbed like a squirrel until she was very high up, and the branches swayed with the new weight. Elsa tried to join her mother, but found that she either couldn't reach or couldn't find the same hand-and-foot holds that her mother had previously utilized. Laughing at her distress, Mama had climbed back down until she hung from a branch about five feet up. She grinned down at her daughter before letting go. Elsa gasped as she watched her mother fall for three heart-stopping seconds to land gracefully on her feet like a cat.

Her mother crouched down. "Here," she said, "get on my back, I'll carry you up. It'll be the most exiting piggy-back ride you've ever had!" Elsa had eagerly scrambled to straddle her mother's spine, wrapping her little legs around her mother's ribs, and twining her arms to clasp in front of her neck. Mama had re-discovered similar if not identical hand-and-feet holds from last time, and had climbed the tree as if she were carrying nothing at all.

By the time they had reached a branch close to the top that would support them without breaking, they had little red scratches up and down their arms and legs. Mama stopped and pulled them up onto the branch. She perched carefully on it before peeling Elsa off of her to sit beside her. She instructed Elsa to hold onto the branch with both hands, and be careful how she leaned her weight. They sat in silence, swinging their legs, and enjoying the Midnight night air on their exposed legs.

"Oz, I love it up here," Mama sighed, "it's like flying; there's nothing but the wind on your face and the branch underneath you, supporting you, as you sit in the atmosphere."

"You've flown, Mama?" Elsa asked innocently. Her mother chuckled.

"Of course, kjæreste, of course! Many times…" she trailed off, smiling at some old memory.

"How?" Her mother paused, thinking, before saying

"Why, by growing wings, of course! How else?"

"You grew wings?" Elsa's eyes were as wide and as round as dinner plates. Her mother nodded, carrying on the joke. Se tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes I did; huge feathered ones this long!" she stretched her arms as wide as they could go. Once she made her point, her hands snapped back to clasping the tree trunk.

"Wow…" Elsa breathed, watching her mother in awe. "What color were they?" Her mother thought for a moment, trying to 'remember.'

"Green," she finally said, looking down, smiling a nostalgic smile at Elsa, "they were black and green and they were beautiful." Her eyes wandered off, looking at something Elsa couldn't see.

"Do you miss your wings, Mama?" her mother snorted with a smile.

"Every day, kjæreste, every day. But," she continued, "I've got you to replace them, so I'd say it was a fair enough deal."

"Oh." There was silence as Elsa nodded, taking this piece of news in. "But, wouldn't you rather fly?" Her mother laughed.

"I'll tell you what; if my wings come back, then I'll take you with me and we'll both go flying. How's that sound?"

"Yes!" Elsa bounced in her 'seat,' making the branch sway uneasily.

"Okay, okay, easy! Don't make the branch wobble."

They lapsed into an easy silence. It lasted for seconds, for minutes, for infinite increments of splinters of time. Sometime during that silent infinite moment Elsa turned and truly looked at her mother. What she saw astounded and awed her; her mother was amazing. She was beautiful and gentle, but there was more to her beneath the surface. There was a wild sort of…beauty that rested, dormant, just underneath her Mama's skin that required only the lightest of nudges to reawaken. It was raw, and yet…familiar, for the same wildness sung within her veins too.

Naturally, these thoughts were not realized as eloquently by Elsa; the youngling was only three years of age at the time. No, instead, what she felt could not be explained using a toddler's vocabulary, but with her instinct. And it was her instinct that sensed that her mother, like the moon, had a hidden side. And it, like the rest of her, was truly, strikingly, beautiful. It was at that moment that Elsa thought of a new name for her mother; the Queen of Birds. As the Queen watched unseen memories in her mind's eye, her chick looked up at her mother with deep respect, watching and admiring her.

All too soon yet not quite too late, her mother turned to her and asked "do you want to come down now?" Elsa nodded, slightly disappointed that the moment of peace had to end.

"Okay."

Sensing her daughter's reluctance to leave, her mother said "we can stay up here longer if you want to."

"No, let's go." She shifted on the branch, climbing back onto her mother. "Besides," Elsa added mischievously, "there's more we can do on the ground!" And with that, her mother began her nimble descent down the tree, with Elsa clinging to her securely.

Once they hit the ground, it didn't take long before they resumed playing.

Mama drew designs in the smooth, unmarred snow left behind from their fight and Elsa recreated them in ice, as if she were a blacksmith forming new things in metal from molds. At one point, they had several ice daggers and swords, armor, baubles, and other trinkets. Using the ice swords they fought a mini battle on the lawn until their ice weaponry melted and became too slippery or too cold to hold properly. When they were through, they flopped onto the grass and looked up at the stars.

"Mama? What's that one?" Elsa asked her mother, pointing at a cluster of stars.

"Which one?" Elsa guided her mother's hand to point to the where she was looking. "Are you expecting me to know what that constellation really is, or do you want me to make one up again?" her mother asked, arcing her brows with a playful smirk at her daughter.

"Make one up, make one up!" Elsa crowed. Her mother shushed her, grinning.

"Hey, you don't want to wake up everyone, do you?"

"No!" Elsa giggled.

"Okay, now let me think." Mama pressed her hands to her temples, squinted her eyes and gazed up at the stars twinkling above them in the indigo sky.

"That…is…the Gnome King's Belt," she said, removing her hands to wrap them around her daughter. Elsa snuggled in to her mother's side.

"Really?"

"Yup, because…because those three" she pointed to three tiny stars in a wobbly line, "form the top of the belt, while those four," she pointed to another line of stars below the first line, "form the top. And all of the other stars are the jewels and pockets and trinkets that decorate it."

"Whoa," Elsa breathed. Her mother smiled down at her.

"Do you see it?" She asked.

"I see it!" Elsa nodded. "What about…those!" she pointed to a new sector to the left of the 'gnome king's belt.'

"Those? Oh that's easy! That's your Papa's face in the morning when he hasn't fully woken up yet! Rawr!" Mama curled her hands into claws and snarled in a caricature of her husband's grouchy morning, 'I-haven't-had-my-coffee-yet-leave-me-alone-until-I-can-address-someone-like-a-normal-human-being' face. She lunged close to her daughter's face and Elsa shrieked with a combination of sudden fear and excitement. She covered her face with her hands, giggling, and burrowed into her mother's chest. Her mother dropped the charade and laughed with her.

"Want me to do another one?" Elsa nodded and laughed harder.

"Okay…but I'm gonna pick the stars this time, okay?"

"Okay." Her mother stood up from the grass and raised her face to the heavens. She tilted her head, swiveling her face in either direction, staring up at the twinkling dots. Elsa listened to the chirping of the crickets as she watched her mother. Mama was mouthing something over and over as she studied the sky. Elsa frowned but didn't let it bother her. Finally her mother paused, blinked at a certain patch of sky and said "There."

Elsa turned at looked where Mama was pointing. It was a sparse patch of sky on the western horizon. Only a handful of gleaming specks were sprinkled. Elsa stood from her spot on the grass and padded towards Mama. When she reached her side, her mother picked her up and balanced her on her hip. She guided Elsa's hand through the stars again, tracing the shape with a slim pointer finger. Up, down southeast, form a triangle, up northwest, right northeast (making two sides of a triangle), left southwest, right northwest a little (another angle), then north in an arc, connecting a total of nine or ten stars in a crooked, asymmetrically-dimensioned cross. Elsa looked at her mother.

"What's that one?" Her mother bounced her, throwing her higher up on her hip.

"Guess," Mama said excitedly, watching her daughter's face.

"Well…" Elsa traced the shape with her hand again, trying to see what it could be. She frowned at the sky for a few minutes, little brain calculating. Then she gasped "it's a bird!"

"What? It's a…well, yes I guess it is. It does fly, anyway."

"A bird for the Queen of Birds!" crowed Elsa. Her mother shushed her hurriedly, then asked

"What do you mean, 'the Queen of Birds'?" Elsa blushed. Whoops.

"That's my name for you. My mama, 'the Queen of Birds.' "

"Oh."

"Is that…okay?"

"Yes, I just didn't know that you'd given me a nickname." Elsa still looked uneasy, "it's fine, really; I like it kjæreste. Hey," she lifted Elsa's face to look at her, "if I'm the Queen of Birds, what does that make you?" Elsa shrugged and looked up.

"I dunno, I didn't give myself a name."

"Well," her mother said, looking her in the eye, "I'll think of one for you, how's that sound?"

"Good," Elsa yawned suddenly. Her mother chuckled.

"Well, for now, it looks like it's time for bed. We need to get back before they notice we're gone. Do you think you have enough energy to erase the snow?"

"Yes."

"Good. It's time to clean up kjæreste." Elsa shifted position in her Mama's arms as she was gently set on the ground. She weakly waved her hands towards the ground and plants. The snow begin to melt and disappear, as if bring rubbed away with an invisible eraser. Their creations folded in on themselves and poofed back from whence they came; the grass unfroze back to its original springy green; all evidence of their snowball fight went away and the ice creations melted in fast-forward until they were puddles, smaller puddles, then nothing.

They closed the gate behind them, being careful to replace the lock before padding tiredly up the path. They tip-toed through the back door and up the stairs, passing numerous rooms until they reached Elsa's.

Her mother tucked her into bed, gently folding the soft covers around her daughter's body. She kissed her daughter's forehead and Elsa sighed happily.

"Good-night, Mama," she called softly, snuggling into the covers.

"Good-night kjæreste," her mother walked to the open doorway.

"Mama?" her mother turned to look back at her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Did you have fun?" Her mother smiled warmly.

"Yes, I did. Did you?"

"Yes!" Elsa giggled.

"Good. How about we do this again sometime, okay?"

"Okay!"

"And in the meantime, I'll work on that nickname."

"Okay, Mama."

"Good-night, kjæreste. I love you," her mother called softly as she left the doorway to walk back to her own bed.

"Good-night, Mama. Love you." Elsa snuggled deeper into the covers, her mind filled with the fun memories of the previous hours, dreaming of what they would do next.

Unknown to Elsa at the time that was the last time she and her mother would ever have that much fun again. In fact, it was the last truly happy memory of Elsa's childhood. But for the moment, as Elsa drifted off, she was content and cozy, wrapped in a cocoon of love and comfort.

**Wheew! This chapter took a lot out of me. Every time I upload a new chapter I feel like I'm feeding the metaphorical nonexistent fish that I do not own. Here fishy, fishy! Want a new chapter? Here you go! New words! Eat up! Num num num! Oooh, i'n't that good? Yes! Eat up, eat up! XD**

**Would you believe that the first draft was just a little over a thousand words? I don't know how I was able to find another near-2,000! But I did, somehow I did. It very nearly killed me, but I did. I wanted to make this chapter perfect before diving into the heavy stuff. And don't worry, Anna will come in the next chapter. ;) **

**As for new watchers/ followers/ readers seeing this: buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride next week! ~gives evil laugh~ You guys are gonna hate me…XD**

**Also: much thanks to: youngsoul, BurningStorm, and Mr. Mimas for your thoughtful reviews! I really appreciated all of them!**

**And yes, Mr. Mimas, that was a reference to 'Mockingjay.' Haymitch, though drunk most of the time, is a pretty wise guy, don'cha think?**

**Anywayz, hold onto your hats, cuz there's a twistah a-comin'!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Okay, here's where sh** gets real, so those of you who have seen/ know the musical should have started groaning the minute you saw the title of this new chap. Those of you who are inpatient to get to Jack, and Shiz, and all that, don't worry we're coming down the home stretch! Just a few more chapters of 'Part 1' to go! (The rest of you: shame on you! Savor these chapters—you know better! ;) )**

**Also, I know that I update a lot on Wednesday instead of what I originally said: Thursday. This is because I'm afraid that I won't have time the next day (my schedule is currently very hectic and unpredictable), so I post it ahead of time. Please note: this will *not* be a permanent habit after March 8! So please, don't depend on Wednesdays or expect new chaps on Wednesdays. The 'official' update day is Thursday. I just happen to be posting stuff on Wednesdays more often lately.**

**With that being said, enjoy the new chapter!**

**~Beth  
**

Chapter 6: Milkflowers 

After that special night, Mama seemed unable to play as much as she had before; she was always too tired or couldn't play for long. She tried to hide it from Elsa as best she could, but Elsa still noticed and worried all the more. She hoped that Mama was alright. When asked, all her mother would say was she felt a little 'under the weather,' whatever that meant. But they both tried to ignore Mama's decrease in energy, and act as if nothing was wrong. For the most part, it worked; but still, there were moments…

Mama and Elsa were playing a game they liked to call 'story time.' That was when Mama would bring out a pair of dolls that she herself had sewn from their special box in her closet, and she would tell Elsa a story, using the dolls as characters. They sat on the floor of the nursery, Elsa leaning on her hands, Mama kneeling with a doll in each hand as she spun a tale for her daughter. The dolls (whose names were Ika and Aztryzz) hopped across the floor within the clasp of Mama's hands, slowly but surely making their way across the floor to the Pile of Damask Sofa Cushions. Mama was halfway through her story when she stopped her narrative suddenly. Her face was nearly as green as her daughters'. She dropped the dolls she was holding and ran for the water closet.

That was the third time that day, and Elsa was a little worried. She hoped Mama wasn't getting sick; when Mama was sick, that meant that they couldn't play until she got better. She turned her attention back to the dolls. She picked up her favorite one, holding it in her tiny hands and bouncing it against the ground as if it was walking. Perhaps it was going on one of those other adventures Mama had told her about. Mam loved telling Elsa stories from her youth. Her favorite doll was the one with the reddish hair and the green outfit. Meanwhile, Mama's doll (a slim little thing with a blonde braid of flax hair with a blue dress) lay on the floor where she'd dropped it, forgotten.

Mama returned a few minutes later, looking a little unsteady on her feet and still a little pale, but smiling bravely just the same.

"Now," she said, taking a deep breath, "where were we?"

"Ika and Aztryzz were about to explore the forbidden caves of the Gilikin!" Elsa supplied cheerfully, holding out both dolls to her mother. Mama smiled, took the dolls from her toddler daughter, and story time resumed once again, guided along with Mama's captivating voice.

A month later, the cause of Mama's distress came to light. It was dinner at the Governor's household, and he, Mama, and Elsa were currently eating the soup course of the meal. Mama was unusually quiet, staring down into her indigo wyziju (pronounced 'whiz-EE-joo') soup with a subdued look upon her face. Over the course of the last month, dark circles had grown under her eyes, enhancing the unnatural paleness of her face. Her mouth was turned down, and she stirred her spoon through the thin pale blue soup listlessly, barely eating a thing, never looking up at anybody, not even Elsa. Elsa noticed her mother's odd behavior but barely thought of it—she was only three, after all, and was currently more preoccupied with her empty stomach.

The Governor set down his spoon and wiped his mouth with a napkin before replacing it in his lap. He looked up at his daughter and fought the urge to wince. She was his daughter, technically speaking, Unnamed God-bless her, but looking at her and seeing her skin was still, to this day, a shock that he still could not adapt to. To make things worse, Elsa had happily began to slurp her soup. Elsa glanced up, met her father's gaze, and stopped her noisy eating when she noticed his face. She made an effort to continue eating carefully by sipping in patient spoonfuls. He watched his daughter for a few minutes, waiting for her to near the end of her bowl, before he reached for his wife's hand. She gave him a strained smile in return as he took her hand, and set down her spoon as well, still shiny with cleanliness. They turned to look at their daughter, who was still eating her meal with gusto.

"Elsa," the Governor began, "your mother and I have something to tell you." Elsa's blue orbs swiveled upwards to meet her father's hazel ones. Then she looked back at her food and continued to eat, not wanting to finish her meal just yet. The Governor cleared his throat; Elsa continued eating. Finally, predicting that her husband would explode with impatience soon if she didn't do something, her mother reached forward and gently took the spoon away from Elsa's hand before she could take another 'bite.' She placed it to the left of her plate, atop her napkin, still a neatly folded triangle of cream upon the tablecloth's surface.

"Ahem. Now," continued the Governor, "I am sure that you find yourself lacking company in our mansion from time to time; that is why your mother feels that she must play with you to appease your boredom." Elsa frowned slightly, missing how her mother stared at Papa, shocked that he would say such a thing to her daughter. Mama was her playmate—she wouldn't play with her because she thought she had to. They had fun together. Papa must be mistaken. She refocused her ears on the Governor's 'sales pitch'.

"…so, to summarize, you will no longer have to worry your—ahem—green," Mama's gaze at Papa's face soured and pinched, "head about that, because in about 8 more months, you will have a new brother or sister. Now, doesn't that sound nice?" he asked, giving a too-wide smile at the little girl.

"I'd rather play with Mama," Elsa admitted as she hoisted herself onto the top of the table, reaching across it on her stomach in an attempt to retrieve her spoon from Mama. Her mother hid a smirk at her eldest's response with the hand not currently occupying one of the Governor's palms. The Governor's face turned an interesting shade of mauve before he retorted

"Well, with the new baby, I'm afraid that your mother won't have the time to play with you anymore." There, that should stop this nonsense. Elsa was now halfway across the polished oak table, both feet dangling over the edge, as she stretched as far as she could to get that utensil back. Her mother finally relinquished the spoon before Elsa could accidentally stick an elbow into the creamed corn, or before her father lost it. Whichever came first really; the order didn't matter.

"But if Mama's busy with the baby, then wouldn't the baby's busy with Mama? So wouldn't I be alone again?" Elsa curiously asked, slowly sliding back into her chair, her skirts riding up as they caught on the edge of the table and tablecloth. Her mother reached for her drinking glass, taking a sip to hide her snort of amusement. Even at the very tender age of three, Elsa, bless her verdant hide, was very clever and could outwit her father easily with the simplest of child logic. Meanwhile the Governor's face had passed mauve and was approaching the rich puce of a Gilikinese noble.

"I…you—" the Governor spluttered, floundering in the three-year-old's logic, before answering impatiently "that's not the point. The point is your mother is going to have another baby, a baby that will someday be your playmate. However, after some time, when it has grown up, you will have a new playmate, and you can finally stop this nonsense of bothering your mother when you want for company. But until then, do not bother either your mother or the baby; your mother is busy and cannot play the way you wish anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes Papa." Elsa nodded, looking down at her soup. She wasn't happy, and she'd rather have her mother than a new playmate, but she knew better than to start an argument with her Papa.

"Good, now eat your corn." He gestured to her plate with his fork before taking a bite of the vegetable himself. Though only three (nearly four) years of age, Elsa couldn't resist the opportunity to release some of the annoyance she felt over something trivial as food.

"I don't like corn, it's slimy," she said, knowing that it would get a rise out of Papa. At her comment, her father spluttered and nearly chocked on his bite of food. Elsa glanced at her mother and was able to catch the small smile hidden in the shadows of her face and the slight exasperated shake of the head as the woman widened her eyes and glanced first from her crimson-faced husband to her eldest in a playful gesture that could only mean 'oh, now you've done it.'

Elsa's reply to her Papa, unfortunately, spawned a long, boring lecture about the history and the importance of corn in Munchkin economy, lifestyle, and culture. It lasted through the salad course, main course, and didn't show any signs of stopping until the desert course, when the Governor's voice started to rasp and crack from overuse. Then, at last, he shut up. Thank Oz; otherwise he would have ruined the pearlfruit sorbet.

All throughout the Governor's rant, Elsa and her Mama had exchanged glances and other signs of amusement at the Governor's expense, and for the first time since that night of play, Elsa had felt like she truly had her Mama back again. They would get through this set-back together, she could feel it. They'd play with the baby, the three of them, once it was big enough. She smiled. She could get used to the idea of a sister or brother. Well, she hoped it was a sister; it would be fun to play with another girl, and she and Mama could teach it their secrets and their ways together.

Elsa's excitement and bonding moment opportunity with her mother were short-lived, however. After the announcement at dinner Elsa and her Mama tried to keep on playing as they always had, in spite of the Governor's warning, but it quickly became harder and harder as Mama became weaker and weaker. It was the end of an Era, loathe as either of them were to admit it.

The dinner of The Announcement (as Elsa thought of it) was also one of the last milkflower-free meals the family would have. After that, Mama's diet consisted of barely anything but milkflowers or milkflower-based foods. At one point, Papa even asked Cook to make a milkflower milk for Mama to drink. It didn't work, thank Oz—after Mama tried it, she barely said a word before bolting from the dinner table with her hands pressed to her mouth. Soon, all meals (even snacks) involved some sort of milkflower-based food that Mama was supposed to eat. Papa insisted that it was for her and the baby's own good, but sometimes Elsa wondered if the Milkflowers helped at all. If anything, they just seemed to make Mama sicker.

There was also something…off about Mama that she couldn't quite name. She was sadder most of the time, and her mind and eyes sometimes drifted off to a place where Elsa could not follow. Sometimes she'd stop whatever she was doing and just look off into space, as if she were searching for something, or someone. Other times she'd pause, frowning confusedly; she'd stop suddenly from her walk down the hall, and look for all the world like she didn't know where she was, like a lost puppy or a girl as young as Elsa. Her confused face would transform into one of tears, as she tried to rationalize her surroundings. Just before it looked like the dams of her eyes would break, she would shake her head like a dog with water in its ears, and resume walking on, frowning once more.

But still, they tried to be happy. Elsa did her best to awaken Mama from her 'bad spells,' as Elsa called them. Her presence did help, to an extent. It was as if Elsa was a spot of green sunlight that illuminated Mama's world with contentment and soothing feelings; in the presence of her, all was happiness that chased away the saddening quiet. However, when the bright spot left, the long shadows of Mama's unnamed sadness lengthened until they held her strongly in their grasp.

But still, their life was okay…until the day that Mama collapsed.

She and Elsa had been playing in the hall, just walking calmly to the nursery. Elsa had skipped circles around her mother, trying to burn energy to compensate for her mother's depleted supply. Mama had seemed just fine, fanning herself with her hand, and complaining about the heat in between her conversation with Elsa, like flecks of dark amidst a light-colored painting. Suddenly her eyes had rolled back into her head and her frame went limp. Her legs twisted around themselves and bent slowly under her weight, gaining momentum until she collapsed on the floor. Elsa had fell to her Mama's side, holding her hand, and screamed and screamed for help in panic until the servants came running. They had circled the two, the group overpowering them, surrounding them on all sides. A few of them gingerly picked up Mama and carried her to bed, one of her arms dangling limply from their grasps, similar yet completely different from the special Night a month ago. Elsa trailed listlessly in their wake, nipping at their heels uselessly, begging to help in any way. They outraced her, reaching the master bedroom and closing the door in her face. They didn't mean to; they were too busy attending to their Mistress and the crisis at hand. The doctor was called. He stepped lightly into Mama's room, stayed for a handful of tiks, and eventually left. Elsa heard voices murmuring through the closed door, but they told her nothing. The door, for the first time in Elsa's life, did not open whenever she tried it.

She tried to visit her mother, but they always shooed her away, insisting that she wait for Mama to wake up first. As a pair of maids tried to nudge her out of the room from her last attempt, Elsa had glanced over her shoulder to look at her mother. Mama had looked so small and pale and weak, her eyes closed against lily-white skin, thin networks of veins showing at the corners. She was lying on her back, her arms limp on top of the covers. Elsa had turned back around as she was gently yet sternly pushed into the hall. The door closed behind her with a low slam, echoing the frightened thuds of her worried heart.

That was the last time Elsa saw of Mama, and the last she would see of her mother for a very long time.

**So, yeah things are starting to go downhill in Elsa's little world. I cannot tell you how sad I felt writing this part. Can't wait until we hit the fun/ happy stuff! (Sadly those days will not be happening for a while .)**

**Love me? Hate me? Really don't give a sh**? Leave it all in the comments! Heck, tell me what you think is going to happen next, or share with me what you'd like to happen next. Citizens, countrymen, lend me your ideas! ;)**

**Oh, also, as a heads-up: next week I will be posting on Wednesday instead of Thursday, since i will be way too busy on Thurs. Okay? So you guys all get an 'early' chapter! Yay! (*_Whoo-hoo! BEASBeth is the greatest author ever, you should, like, totally review her story in gratitution, whoo!_* ;) )**

'**Til next time, ta!**


	8. Chapter 7

**Yessir, it's the day you've been waiting for! Hold onto your hats, folks (and your feels), it's the next installment! Things are about to get…well, interesting. I know you all think you know what's coming up, and you're right…and wrong ;) you'll see!**

**~Beth**

Chapter 7: Snowmen

_Knock, knock, kn-knock knock!_ Elsa rapped their special knock pattern on the door with her knuckles.

"Mama?" she called through the door, "Do you wanna build a snowman? C'mon, let's go and play! I never see you anymore," she crossed her arms and pouted, leaning against the white door, "come out the door, it's like you've gone away!" she complained.

"We used to be best buddies; and now we're not. I wish you would tell me why!" she asked the door. "Do you wanna build a snowman?" she leaned in to the keyhole and added "it doesn't have to be a snowman."

"Go away, Miss Elsaba, your mother needs to rest!" called one of the maids from inside. Elsa's shoulders slumped and she plodded away disappointedly.

"Okay, bye," she called over her shoulder.

She tried again a few days later, but nothing could ever rouse her mother from her room. She became a ghost, a memory, an idea that somehow existed, but wasn't seen. Sure, there was evidence that her mother was inside, and alive; empty trays with used soup bowls, saucers, and glasses sat outside her door for the maids to bring back to the kitchen; occasionally her voice could be heard mumbling something behind the door; sheets were changed, washed, and brought back. All this and more happened to prove that her mother did indeed rest inside her room, but Mama, however, had ceased to exist.

Once Elsa had been lucky and had passed her mother's door while she was taking a nap. There were no maids around at that time, and the door was, for once, mercifully unlocked, so she slipped inside. She sat on a stood near her mother's side, keeping vigil for her as the woman slept. Elsa almost hadn't recognized her mother; her hair was lank and greasy, falling in disgusting wisps and hanks on her head, neck, and shoulders; her skin was sallow and almost yellow in color, unlike its usual healthy glow. She looked almost malnourished, despite all the food she was fed daily, and Elsa could see all the blue veins (as well as some of the red ones) under her mother's skin. Mama looked as if she had aged 10 years.

When the maids came back, they saw Elsa holding one of her mother's hands in both of her own, softly singing the lullaby her mother had sang to her when she was sick.

As the months passed, Elsa no longer got to see her mother, and the woman's health seemed to be getting worse with each passing day. One time she pressed her ear to the door and heard coughing, followed by violent retching. She stopped listening after that. She and Mama had sworn that they would not never abandon the other, so Elsa grabbed her toys and played in the hall outside her mother's door, waiting for the day when Mama would came out again, just as fresh and healthy as she had been before she disappeared into that room.

And then their already fragile world balancing on a precipice fell, and shattered into a sharply fragmented, ruined chaos, hurting anyone within blast radius. No one nearby was left unscathed. Elsa received the worst of the shrapnel of hurt as her tiny world crumbled around her.

At the time, Elsa hadn't understood what was happening. One moment everything had been quiet; she had been playing by herself in the nursery; a pair of servants chatted idly as they walked down the halls performing their duties; Papa was inside his study, in counsel with his advisors. Then, in the duration of a moment, everything was tilted on its head.

Screams came from Mama's room, echoed and chorused by the servants' shouts and yells. Elsa looked up from her toys to see servants thundering down the hall in a panicked, worried mob. A few members of the herd broke off and scattered down different paths, birds separating from their protective flock. The distinctive deep blue and white markings of their uniformed plumage fluttering past in soft quick whooshes. There were the deep staccato thumps as one of the birds pounded a fist upon the great Oak doors of Papa's study, frantically cawing at him through the wood. A flock of maids flew by, carrying water, rags, medicine, and clean bed sheets. Their mother hen, the housekeeper, went against the wind left in their wake, flapping her periwinkle skirts to the front door, wrenching it open and flying down the street, her mournful warbles reverberating as she flew to the Midwife's nest.

Elsa dared not step outside for fear of being overwhelmed and smothered by the rushing flocks. She poked her head out the door as the winds began to die down. Inching against the wall, she carefully made her way to Mama's room. She reached the door and peered through the crack. The birds hopped and circled Mama, snatching up bits of fabric and shiny instruments in their delicate white beaks, blotting at her sweaty forehead with damp rags and chirping worriedly to one another.

"Mama?" Elsa timidly opened the door. Her gaze turned to her mother and stopped. Mama's eyes were rolled back so far that only the whites were showing, and every inch of exposed skin, previously sallow and sickly, was now flushed a ruddy color and shiny with sweat. When she wasn't breathing heavily she was babbling nonsense in chopped pieces, like one possessed by a demon.

Elsa couldn't move, couldn't tear herself away from the being who had, at one point, been her mother. One of the birds noticed her and broke formation to scoop up the little girl and sweep her out the door.

"Don't come in, Miss Elsaba," she cooed, her voice soothing with a subtle undertone of panic. "You don't want to be here. Don't you fret, we'll let you know when it's over." She gently nudged Elsa in the direction of her room before swooshing back to the nest, closing the door. Elsa stumbled forward a couple steps, but hesitated. She couldn't leave Mama (or what was left of her) behind. She walked down the hall, looking in each room as she went until she found a chair small enough for her to drag. She pulled it across the thick blue-china patterned carpet. She reached Mama's door and set the small chair upright just to the right of the door. The chair's back hit the wall with a soft bump. Elsa hopped up on the cushioned seat, swinging her legs idly and watching her twiddling thumbs as she listened to the soft, low cries of the birds, and the quick discordant notes of babble—occasionally broken by a shrill scream—streaming unendingly from the Queen of Birds. The next few hours passed in a whirling blur, yet in slow motion; everything was too slow and much too fast all at once. The lovely, molting Midwife flew up the stairs and down the hall to her mother's nest, her clothes thrown half-on in haste. Her path of flight was followed by two of the maids. They dashed through the door; the volume inside increased for a moment as the door ceased to be an obstruction, then faded again as the door slammed shut. Her father at last arose from his den, taking long strides with his advisatory ministers following like yipping dogs.

None of them paid much attention to Elsa. Papa knocked on the door in four short raps. One of the maids opened the door and quickly spoke in hushed broken tones what was going on. _There's some trouble with the baby_, she said, _it's too soon, there are other complications, the mother isn't_ _responding, we'll tell you more when there's more news_. When Papa asked to talk to the midwife, the maid had hurriedly chirped that the woman was currently busy before shutting the door in his face. The ministers at this time had dispersed to the four winds, going back to their own homes with fresh gossip about the Governor's household.

The Governor noticed his daughter sitting near the door.

"Elsa? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I—" she started.

"Come away from the door, you'll be in the way!" Elsa allowed herself to be herded away from the door, but vowed that she'd try to sneak back later. She couldn't, wouldn't, give up on Mama now.

Her mother's screams of pain, like the cries of a wounded animal, lasted through the evening and most of the night. Before she went to bed, Elsa tiptoed down the hall, and poked her head around the corner, looking down the adjacent passageway where the opening to her mother's nest lay. Another muffled scream erupted into existence, and Elsa ducked behind the corner, shivering, heart pounding. She had never heard a sound as horrible as Mama's screams of pain.

Finally, at about one in the morning, the screams stopped. Elsa was asleep, but the house buzzed as servants tried to fix the aftermath of the sudden—and rather traumatic—birth. The mother had been drugged for the pain and…other complications, and the babe, though early, was breathing easily in the wet-nurse's arms. Someone fetched the Governor and told him the news, while another person was dispatched to inform the villagers, mostly of whom (quite frankly) had been worried about the Governess's and the baby's conditions.

The household quieted down within an hour, and soon everyone was asleep.

Save one.

A shadow staggered on weak legs through the halls, searching for something… It reached Elsa's room, opening the door. It quietly plodded across the room, feet like lead, to slip a chain of some sort inside a box, before turning around with aching slowness and passing back through the open door way. Elsa moaned and tossed in her sleep, turning to sleep on her other side.

The shadow paused a moment, looking back at the sleeping girl, before turning away and heading back down the hall. It reached the armory and heaved a large axe off of the wall. It made its way to the back door, opening and closing the thick wooden panel behind itself silently.

The shadow fled across the lawn, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed, clasping the axe handle with both hands as it ran to the mountains…to freedom, leaving behind a thin trail of blood.

**Ohhhh…aren't I just evil? Can you guess what or rather who the shadow was? Come on, guess! I dare ya! (Well, if you don't guess, is no matter; I tell you in next chapter. Hee hee hee… ;) )**


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Missing 

The little Providence of Arendelle awoke the next morning, sleepy and bleary-eyed after the excitement of the previous night. Nearly everyone had dark circles under their eyes. There was still undercurrent of tension in the air, like electricity before lightning strikes. Everyone remained tense yet tired, like stiff muscles that remain clenched and cannot relax despite the continuing ache. Yet people ignored the tension in the air, and acted as if nothing was wrong; they shook off the uneasiness tickling their minds and went about their business; opening shops, mixing dough, eating breakfast. Drapes were opened to let in weak, cold rays of sunshine. They deluded themselves into believing that after the shock, panic, and chaos of the previous evening the worst was over; the storm had passed. But if the storm had truly passed, then why did they all feel so uneasy? People mentally shook their heads at such antsy nonsense and went about their day.

At around seven in the morning, a maid sounded the alarm; the Governor's wife had gone missing. The news hit the people in a fresh shock wave. Tendrils of gossip formed and wove their way throughout the crowd, drawing people together in whispering clusters, and giving the people something to talk about besides crop growth and the ongoing drought. People leaned over counters, hunched shoulders, whispered in each other's ears as new ideas formed and spread.

She had been weak and drugged from the birth, so she couldn't have gone far, argued some. Others suggested that the birth and the medications had snapped her mind. Still some had said that she was hiding. Hiding from what? Others asked. Hiding from her responsibilities, was the condescending answer. Or they simply agreed with those who suggested that the medications of the birth had warped the already…odd woman's mind, and that she was playing a foolish game of hide-and-go-seek, laughing silently from her hiding place as her seekers pursued her in vain.

All the members of the household searched high and low for her, but none could locate any sign of her. It wasn't until noon that anyone had any indication of what was going on.

Elsa sat on the window seat of her new room, swinging her legs from the side of the bed. She studied the shiny toes of her boots. No one told her anything, and no one would let her in to see her mother. She was told that her mother needed rest, she was still sleeping, maybe later, but Elsa had seen the worried looks on their faces as they'd ushered her away from her mother's bedroom door. There was something that they weren't telling her. Something important. But what?

Elsa's musings were interrupted by a sharp shriek from outside her window. She turned around, pressing her palms to the glass. She looked down. There was a blue and white dot smudged next to the pathway. Elsa squinted. One of the maids had fallen, her skirts tangled around her ankles. After a few moments, the cluster of servants surrounding the limp body scooped it up with their many hands. They carried it into the house, shuffling for balance like a circinate centipede. Elsa bounded off of the seat to the doorway. She leaned over the railing, watching them bring in the maid's body. She tip-toed down the stairs, staying out of sight. Maybe she'd finally understand what they were doing if she overheard them.

She peeked around a doorway in the servants' quarters. They'd laid the poor girl on a cot, and one man was waving a small vial in front of her nose. After a few minutes, her eyes opened and she coughed, waving away the vial with one hand while coughing into the other. Elsa cautiously watched as the young woman sat up. A nearby kitchen maid handed her a small cup of tea. The entire group spoke in muddled murmurs and whispers, mumbling in servant-speak as if it was a language all their own. Elsa leaned in, trying to listen closer, but could make out nothing. She tried to get even closer but she was discovered and sent back to her room with a pair of maids.

Meanwhile, one of the other servants had relayed the news to the Governor, who arranged a search party of strong men from the village to follow the new clue.

_ 

Elsa watched from her window the next morning as the team of men arrived at the house, packing gear and supplies for the journey ahead. She had been told that her mother had gone on a journey, and needed an escort to come back. She was confused at first, but after the first five explanations, she eventually gave up and pretended to understand. Mama had been there in the morning- they'd said that she was sleeping. How could Mama have left while her back was turned so quickly? Surely Mama didn't move that fast. And another thing: if Mama had left, and needed help back already, then she couldn't have gone very far. And if she hadn't gone very far, then why did she need help coming back home? Elsa shook her head to herself. Maybe she'd understand later, after she'd mulled it over in her head.

A small team of horses, one for each man, were each held by a stableman clasping the reins in a gloved hand. The stablemen stood stiffly, posture straight, heels pressed together, chins up, cheeks and noses turning rosy in the chill. The searchers, meanwhile, were rowdy and friendly as they prepared, clapping each other on the back as one told a joke, laughing as their breath steamed slightly in the unseasonably nippy spring morning air. They stuffed folded packages of provisions into their bags, tightening the straps on their horses as the stablemen remained motionless.

She watched as Papa emerged from the house to greet the team. He shook hands with each of them, gave a speech, and wished them luck. The travelers mounted their horses and rode into the distance.

"Don't worry, Miss Elsaba," cooed the maids from their perches, "they'll find the mistress." Elsa nodded and turned back to the window, still not completely reassured.

The team set off, driven and determined to come back with the Governor's wife, dead or alive, or never return. They marched off into Northern Munchkinland until their shapes faded into spots on the horizon, then into nothing. Elsa watched for a few minutes more, searching for a remaining trace of the men within her sight. She grew bored quickly and wandered off, idly looking for something to do. The morning stayed chilly, stanchly refusing to budge a degree warmer or a degree cooler. A week went by. Then another.

When the men finally came back, it was many days later. If they had found the woman, and if they had all survived, it would have taken a miracle. The men looked weary and defeated. Some were missing their packs, one his horse, and all sat with their shoulders slumped.

The Governor ran to the group as Elsa watched from the doorway. He asked the leader something, and the man shook his head somberly. Papa seemed to slump a moment before his posture returned to its usual ram-rod position. He nodded good day to the men, and thanked them for their help. He briskly marched back into the house, pushing Elsa and others aside.

Elsa stumbled backwards into a cluster of skirts and fell. When she looked up, all she could see were skirts and pant legs. She tried to push her way to the front; it was like walking through a dense forest of fabric where the trees kept moving. She heard Papa bark something in the way of orders towards the servants before the forest dispersed, buffeting Elsa about. When her vision was clear and she could walk without bumping into somebody, she looked for Papa. She glanced upwards and spotted Papa trekking up the great staircase stiffly like a tik-tok machine. She followed behind until she reached a landing, hugging a banister. Papa reached the top and marched to his and Mama's bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Elsa watched the door, cocking her head, then shrugged, walking up the stairs to her own room. She hopped onto the window seat, pressing her palms and nose against the glass. Well, if a band of twelve men couldn't find her Mama, then she would.

The birds had changed their plumage, Elsa noticed. Instead of blue and white feathers, they wore black mobcaps, pinafores and gloves over their normal blue dress. Were they celebrating Mama's return? She didn't see Mama anywhere. Mama couldn't be back yet—Elsa had watched faithfully every day since the men had returned empty-handed, and Mama wasn't back yet. Perhaps she had sent word ahead? Maybe that was it—Elsa wouldn't have recognized a messenger.

There were huge bouquets of flowers being brought in by the footmen almost constantly, and the maids covered the windows with black velvet curtains. Elsa couldn't understand; Mama loved light, so why would they block it out?

Elsa had always hated being contained—even as an infant, she couldn't stand being swaddled in blankets or heavy cloth without screaming. Mama had always chuckled and reassured Papa that it came from her side of the family.

Whenever she and Mama had played outside, they had always tried to go barefoot. "Like a pair of hooligans," the housekeeper had always said as they ran around on naked feet, laughing, "just like a pair of hooligans." She and Mama would always laugh harder and run faster, until their skirts flapped behind them and they nearly flew. Sometimes Elsa liked to imagine that her mother really did fly, and that she, like a real bird, was teaching her daughter. Elsa had been so close that she could nearly taste the clouds, but Mama had disappeared before Elsa could properly spread her wings. Elsa hoped Mama would be back soon. She ached to fly. She was close; she could feel it deep down inside.

She was meant to be free, in the light, not trapped inside the mansion like some underground animal, or like a bird in a covered cage. She didn't like it, and Mama wouldn't either. Elsa walked up to the head housekeeper. The woman was currently talking with some servants. Elsa tugged on the woman's skirts until she looked down.

"Yes, Miss Elsaba? What is it?" she asked politely.

"When's Mama coming back?" Elsa asked. The housekeeper paled and she dismissed her audience with a hand gesture.

"Miss Elsaba, I'm afraid…that your mama isn't coming back." Elsa frowned.

"What? She has to! I need to show her what I made for the baby!"

Elsa, in her spare time, had learned how to knit, and had made a small, slightly bumpy woolen cap for the newborn's head. It wasn't very good, but Elsa knew that with practice she would get better. She had gone too long without presenting her work to a parent. For the last month she'd showed off her work to the servants, who would smile and nod politely whenever she ran up to them. Papa still hadn't emerged from his room, and Elsa was afraid of what would happen if she angered him with her interruptions.

"I know, dear, I know, but she can't." The housekeeper's face crinkled sympathetically and she slowly shook her head. Elsa grew impatient and cross. She didn't want pity; she wanted answers!

"Why not?" Elsa crossed her arms, frowning harder.

"I'm afraid that she won't be able to come back." Elsa relaxed. Oh.

"Well, is she coming back soon?" the housekeeper gulped and closed her eyes briefly before looking the young girl in the eyes and saying

"No, dear." A trickle of dread slid down Elsa's spine.

"Why?" She asked, still pressing despite a little voice in her mind that begged her not to ask, that she wouldn't like the answer. She didn't care. She had to know; _needed_ to know. The housekeeper took a deep breath, gathering her strength as she gently placed a hand on either of Elsa's shoulders and knelt down to the green girl's height.

"…She's dead, dear," she said, looking at her with those stupid, sympathetic eyes.

Mama had explained death to her once, such a long, long time ago it seemed. They were playing, chasing each other through the tall grass, when Elsa had discovered a dead bird. Elsa had wondered why it was not as warm as other things were when they slept, and Mama had explained the concept of death and what happened to the body once the soul had left. It was the saddest, most serious discussion that Elsa had ever had with her mother, but it had never occurred to her, not even once, that she would lose her mother.

"What? N-no, that's not true!" Elsa began to squirm from the housekeeper's gentle hold.

"Miss Elsaba—"

"No, I-I don't believe you!" Elsa wriggled harder. The house was closing in on her, the doors and windows ballooning out or looming in farther than their normal proportions as the walls domed and dipped around them. "Bring her back!"

"Miss Elsaba, you must understand, no one could have survived in the Scalps for so long and wearing as little as she was! There's no way to get her back!" the woman's brow wrinkled in concern and sympathy.

"No, no!" Elsa screamed, shaking her head and finally pulling away from the older woman's warm embrace. She pushed past her to run out the front door, her legs moving as fast as they possibly could, fists pumping back and forth.

"Miss Elsaba!" the woman called after her. Elsa didn't turn around, didn't look back. She ran down the hill, nearly tripping over her own feet until she reached the garden. She yanked the gate open and slammed it behind her. She ran and ran until she sat in the center of the lawn. It was still chilly out, and people would see her, but Elsa didn't care. She'd never needed protection from the cold; she _was_ the cold. Let them see what she could do, for once. It didn't matter; nothing mattered anymore.

She screamed once more, raising her palms, shooting anything, everything in sight with blistering yet freezing snow and ice. Tree bark froze solid, grass turned into bleached splinters and crunched when crushed. Nature bowed before her path of destruction, yet Elsa paid it no mind. She didn't care what she destroyed and what she showed mercy.

It wasn't fair, she didn't understand! Mama had been here, alive, just a week ago! They were supposed to celebrate her new baby sister, eat milkflower-free foods, laugh and play as they watched the newborn. She was going to show Mama the new hat she'd made for the baby. It just wasn't fair. Mama couldn't be gone, she just couldn't be!

Finally, her energy sapped from her tantrum, Elsa sunk into the ground in despair and wailed. With some of her remaining energy, she made a perfect replica of her mother in ice. Then, on shaking legs, she wobbled towards the statue, still sobbing. Her tears froze against her chartreuse face as she moved. She reached the statue and collapsed against it, hugging the statue's frozen skirts and trying to bury her face in her Mama's lap the way she used to. She'd grown taller in the last few months, so now she could reach it properly. Mama hadn't even been able to see how tall she was before she'd left.

Elsa stood there for a long time, crying into the frozen doppelgänger of her beloved mother. She refused to move, even when some of the servants tried to coax her away. Somehow she knew, she just knew, that if she left, the statue would melt, and she would be left with no more remnants of her mother.

She fell asleep, standing up, still holding the statue. A servant, properly armed with thick gloves, came to get her, gently prying her off of the ice to carry her inside. He glanced once behind him and shivered at the sight before resuming his walk back to the house.

**This chapter was actually supposed to be two, but I combined them for a bigger word count. This update not easy to write. At one point I was actually bored with what I was writing. My life has gotten very stressful and my muse does not want to cooperate so I'm finding it harder to write. But I'm still going for those of you who love this story.**

**And, those of you who are bored, don't worry – it gets more interesting soon. And yes, I realize that I keep saying that, but I swear! There's only three more chapters of Part 1, then we get to see Punzel and Shiz and Anna. Yes, there is a deadline in sight. There is hope for (said readers who are bored) yet!**

**I dunno. I still feel like I could have done more with this chapter. Wha do you think? Any and all reviews are appreciated!**


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